


Drunken Lullabies

by LearnToShareFeanor



Series: Drunk Texts [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous but Hopeful Ending, Gen, Rated for mentions of severe child abuse, Rated for mentions of underage drinking, both Erestor and Lindir are potty mouths, dark themes, rated for mentions of drunk driving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnToShareFeanor/pseuds/LearnToShareFeanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre- Drunk Texts and Drunk Texts 2, but in the same universe. You can read this first, or read Drunk Texts 1 first, it doesn't really matter. A therapist comes and asks Erestor to tell them how he started drinking. They also ask his little brother, Lindir, how it started and what he thinks. The answers are pretty dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lindir

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this one does NOT have any texting or speaking in either chapter. There is an Odd Thomas reference, with the child abuse, and this is your warning: If you are not willing to read foul language, referenced severe and continuous child abuse, underage drinking, and a mention of drunk driving, please turn around now. 
> 
> The 'poem' at the start is an excerpt from the song Drunken Lullabies by Flogging Molly. I encourage you all to listen to it or at least read the full lyrics in the bottom notes to get a real feel for the meaning behind it.

"Drunken Lullabies, Flogging Molly"

I watch and stare as Rosin`s eyes  
Turn a darker shade of red  
And the bullet with this sniper lie  
In their bloody gutless cell  
Must we starve on crumbs from long ago  
Through these bars of men made steel  
Is it a great or little thing we fought  
Knelt the conscience blessed to kill  
  
Must it take a life for hateful eyes  
To glisten once again  
Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
Singin' drunken lullabies

* * *

                My life sucks, just so you know. You’re coming into _my_ apartment, _my_ home, and asking me why my brother drinks and what I think about it? Well, I think you should go fuck yourself. No, seriously. Record it, maybe get famous on Redtube. I can’t believe I have to actually write this stuff down. Come on, really? For my brothers’ therapy? You must not know how little we talk. Okay, fine. Come here, couch is in the corner, want something to drink? No? Good.

                My brother started drinking when I was somewhere around 12 or 13. I know I was too young to realize what it was doing to him or what was happening, but as to the exact year, I’m clueless. So, why does he drink? Well, you’ll have to ask him. I know that our parents were- and are- frankly terrible. They are some of the worst parents on the face of the earth in my opinion, and my brother took better care of me than they ever could. I don’t know why they even had kids, it’s not like they love us or anything. When I was 15 and he was 17, he got an apartment and moved me in with him. I was so excited! It would be away from my prison guards- oops, parents- and all the booze and liquor and drugs that they had.

                It turns out I got 2 out of 3 right. We were away from the parents, and no drugs were allowed, but my brother got shit-faced regularly. I forgave it back then, mainly because he’d saved my life more times than I can count by stepping in between the parental units and me, but also because he was my _brother_. I figured, one day, he’d recover, and it would all be better.

                Once he got that publishing deal, the drinking slowed down. Some weeks he never even touched a drop! Then dad came back in, saying I was a runaway, and wanting to take me back. CPS was involved, and he started drinking again. He got custody, and when I was 18 and he was 21, he moved out, bought a house with his money. He invited me, but I wanted to stay somewhere on my own for a while. Some place that no longer stunk like old booze.

                How did he get the alcohol? I don’t know, and I never asked. I never really wanted to. I suppose I’m a little scared of the answer.

                But that’s how he started drinking. As for what I think about it, well, I don’t like it, but I love him anyway. He’s my brother. He’s a good guy, really, no better friend, but sometime a few years back, I told him he could have me as company or he could have his liquor. That lasted 6 months. See, I’d been to the store to get groceries for his house- he gets distracted a lot by his writing, and forgets the little things- and I got the usual stuff. Out of the store, I met up with Elladan and Elrohir. They used to be friends with my brother, but I hadn’t seen them in a while. One of them slipped a gift to me for my brother’s birthday. Apparently, they still send him cards and stuff. Anyway, I bought him home. The gift was one of those funny singing cards, and a bottle of gin.

                My brother flipped his shit. I can sort of understand it, I mean, he’d been trying to quit and all, but some of the things he said just hurt. I haven’t spoken to him for about a month now, and I’m not going to start anytime soon.

                My brother thinks it’s because I’m mad at him- and it was, at least for a little while. But if you want the honest answer, it’s this- I have always needed Erestor. I’ve always leaned on him, depended on him for food, shelter, affection, and protection, and he needed me for ONE thing. He needed me to keep alcohol away from him so that he could- I don’t know, heal or something. And he was doing it for me, anyway. But I failed. I failed, and every time I see him now, no matter what he’s been drinking, I can only smell gin and failure. He’s never let me down, but I always let him down. If he’s trying to quit again, tell him not to try for me- I’ll never be able to help him, not the way he needs it. He needs somebody new, somebody who hasn’t went through hell their entire lives, someone who isn’t afraid to be independent of him enough to tell him no.

                No matter how hard I try, I just can’t help him with that.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Must it take a life for hateful eyes  
> To glisten once again  
> Five hundred years like Gelignite  
> Have blown us all to hell  
> What savior rests while on his cross we die  
> Forgotten freedom burns  
> Has the Shepard led his lambs astray  
> to the bigot and the gun
> 
> Must it take a life for hateful eyes  
> To glisten once again  
> Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
> Singin' drunken lullabies
> 
> I watch and stare as Rosin`s eyes  
> Turn a darker shade of red  
> And the bullet with this sniper lie  
> In their bloody gutless cell  
> Must we starve on crumbs from long ago  
> Through these bars of men made steel  
> Is it a great or little thing we fought  
> Knelt the conscience blessed to kill
> 
> Must it take a life for hateful eyes  
> To glisten once again  
> Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
> Singin' drunken lullabies
> 
> Ah, but maybe it`s the way you were taught  
> Or maybe it`s the way we fought  
> But a smile never grins without tears to begin  
> For each kiss is a cry we all lost  
> Though there is nothing left to gain  
> But for the banshee that stole the grave  
> Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
> Singin' drunken lullabies
> 
> I sit in and dwell on faces past  
> Like memories seem to fade  
> No colour left but black and white  
> And soon will all turn grey  
> But may these shadows rise to walk again  
> With lessons truly learnt  
> When the blossom flowers in each our hearts  
> Shall beat a new found flame
> 
> Must it take a life for hateful eyes  
> To glisten once again  
> Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
> Singin' drunken lullabies  
> Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
> Singin' drunken lullabies  
> Singin' drunken lullabies


	2. Erestor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I now have a gmail that you can contact me at if you'd just like to chat, or to give me prompts, request gifts, ect. It's LearnToShareFeanor@gmail.com. You can find it on my profile as well.

           "Drunken Lullabies by Flogging Molly"

I watch and stare as Rosin`s eyes  
Turn a darker shade of red  
And the bullet with this sniper lie  
In their bloody gutless cell  
Must we starve on crumbs from long ago  
Through these bars of men made steel  
Is it a great or little thing we fought  
Knelt the conscience blessed to kill  
  
Must it take a life for hateful eyes  
To glisten once again  
Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
Singin' drunken lullabies

               I’m a writer. I always have been, I suppose. From the moment I learned how to write, I was always scribbling down something. I can’t tell you how many times my dad, and sometimes my mom, tried to beat it out of me. The hospital must have thought I was one clumsy kid. By the time I was 15, I was already sneaking beers out of the fridge, and my writings were violent, terrifying. I started writing for magazines and online newsletters- just short stories that were there to attract readers. I’m a pretty good artist too, I started drawing for some of those magazines. Eventually, I got noticed by some big people. I think- I think it was Time magazine that featured one of my short stories in their Halloween edition, and people started searching my name. I didn’t go by Erestor Silver Fountain, of course. My parents would’ve found out, taken what money I had, and I’d probably be dead. You probably know me better by Argentum Fons, or A.E. Fons. I know, you pull up Google Translate, and it’s Latin for Silver Fountain, but hey- I was 15 when I made it up, give a guy a break!

                By the time I was 18 and started really meeting with people, I had my motorcycle, a tiny apartment on the south side of town that I shared with my 17 year old brother, Lindir, and a rescue Pitbull named Scarface. I don’t know why I always go for rescue dogs- I guess it’s because if they can change, I can change too.

                Writing gives me comfort in a way that my brother and by dogs can’t. The only thing that comes anywhere close is alcohol- any type, any time, any place, as long as I can drink it. I’m slightly ashamed to say I did drink a bottle of mouthwash one night, desperate to get my version of a fix.

                Anyway, I’ve went through nearly 13 publishers before I found this little niche publisher, Haunted Novels. It was halfway bankrupt anyway, so they were as desperate to get new authors as I was to get published. Haunted Novels is now one of the top 50 publishers in the US, and I’ve written almost 50 short stories for them. I’ve done longer books as well, even a drawn out series that you’ve probably read if you’re into horror- the Hellfire books. They’re about this kid that can go in between her dimension and Hell at any time, and she’s hunted by- oh, why am I staying on this? If you haven’t read it already, you probably will.

                But when you asked me how it started, you didn’t mean the books, did you? No. I know what you meant.

                I started drinking when I was 15. It started getting serious when I was about 17. You see, my parents weren’t abusive assholes just to me. They were the same to my little brother. I saw him go down the same road that I was, and I was determined that he wouldn’t. Maybe I couldn’t change, but something as sweet as a dog- or my baby brother- he could. So I took it.

                When he got in trouble for something, I took the punishment. When my parents were just looking for someone to beat on, I made sure he got out of the house. When CPS wanted to drag him away into foster care, I’m the one who said I was falling everywhere.

                When my mom pulled out her little .22 pistol and held it to my head because I was sick and fucking coughing, it was my baby brother who called the police.

                Don’t blame him for my drinking, is what I’m trying to say. Yes, I started because of what was happening at the time, but I would have been twice as bad off if I didn’t have him. I might not have been here at all.

                He blames himself. Doesn’t matter how many times I tell him not to, he does. Now, I have a house- it’s a 2 bedroom affair, bought just in case my brother wanted to move in or needed somewhere to stay somewhere down the road. Scarface died of cancer. The dog afterwards, Bluebell, hit by a car. I have Daisy now, taken from a fighting ring. My motorcycle was totaled after I got on after one too many drinks. I’m lucky I wasn’t too. I have a new one now, it’s a 2016 Harley Davidson Softail Slim S. Beautiful cruiser type, if you’re not into bikes. She’s black, and her name is Dahlia.

                I live alone, except for my dog and my bike. Sometimes I take care of old Mrs. Henderson across the street, go to the gym. I go to bars fairly regularly- there’s one downtown called the Prancing Pony, and I know the barman, Butterburr, by name. I even bought his kids stuff last Christmas. Other than that, the only people I talk to regularly are my dad- when I feel like getting in a fight, my brother- when he answers the phone, anyway- and Ecthelion. Apparently he’s my half-brother that I never knew about. Thanks, dad. There’s a contact in my phone, I don’t know who it is, but he’s now named TALK TO ME. Sometimes I do, when my house seems too empty and I don’t want to go out to get drunk. Sometimes I don’t though, and turn up the radio to go to sleep. Just drunken lullabies. 

**Author's Note:**

> Must it take a life for hateful eyes  
> To glisten once again  
> Five hundred years like Gelignite  
> Have blown us all to hell  
> What savior rests while on his cross we die  
> Forgotten freedom burns  
> Has the Shepard led his lambs astray  
> to the bigot and the gun
> 
> Must it take a life for hateful eyes  
> To glisten once again  
> Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
> Singin' drunken lullabies
> 
> I watch and stare as Rosin`s eyes  
> Turn a darker shade of red  
> And the bullet with this sniper lie  
> In their bloody gutless cell  
> Must we starve on crumbs from long ago  
> Through these bars of men made steel  
> Is it a great or little thing we fought  
> Knelt the conscience blessed to kill
> 
> Must it take a life for hateful eyes  
> To glisten once again  
> Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
> Singin' drunken lullabies
> 
> Ah, but maybe it`s the way you were taught  
> Or maybe it`s the way we fought  
> But a smile never grins without tears to begin  
> For each kiss is a cry we all lost  
> Though there is nothing left to gain  
> But for the banshee that stole the grave  
> Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
> Singin' drunken lullabies
> 
> I sit in and dwell on faces past  
> Like memories seem to fade  
> No colour left but black and white  
> And soon will all turn grey  
> But may these shadows rise to walk again  
> With lessons truly learnt  
> When the blossom flowers in each our hearts  
> Shall beat a new found flame
> 
> Must it take a life for hateful eyes  
> To glisten once again  
> Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
> Singin' drunken lullabies  
> Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess  
> Singin' drunken lullabies  
> Singin' drunken lullabies


End file.
